


Wake

by randomalia (spilinski)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Love, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4217046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilinski/pseuds/randomalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He says it like you're something incredible and wanted, and not some pale, lost wreck of a boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Nogitsune Stiles/Derek. The show never really addressed the effect Stiles' possession must have had on him, but you know he didn't just shrug that off.

You wake and it's still dark. You don't look at your phone - there's no point in the numbers it gives you. Your dreams tell time far more accurately, and they're still deep with blackened doorways and endless corridors; you still hear a voice that isn't yours. There are wet tears behind your eyes that won't spill, a weightlessness in your chest like you're not all there. It feels like you've always been afraid. So no, you don't need a clock: It's still dark. Not enough time has passed. 

But the bed is warm, and you remember it's not empty. When you reach out your knuckles touch skin and cloth, they drift over a dune of muscle before your hand turns and curls around an arm, and you hear the intake of breath that means you can breathe, too.

"Awake?" Derek murmurs, shifting over to you. The bed moves beneath him. He doesn't wait for an answer, just leans in to press a warm, dry kiss to your mouth, and then another, and then he's shifting some more to press his whole body against yours, fitting your hips and bellies and chests together. You feel so much more naked with his skin against yours. His weight holds you down.

He kisses your lips again, and the corner of your eye, and the bridge of your nose. Puts his face to your neck and breathes you in. You don't know what you smell like, to him, but it must be the right kind of chemicals, the right kind of pheromones or something because you feel it run through his body like liquid happiness. He cups a hand at the base of your skull, his fingers warm rivulets through your hair, his face tucking in against your jaw. 

"Yes," you breathe, and you recognize your own voice. "Yeah."

"Doesn't matter," Derek says, quiet, and he starts to rock against you, slow like a wave crashing onto the shore, over and over. 

You let him. You hold onto him, the real, solid breadth of him, thinking maybe if you hold hard enough your hands won't shake. He kisses your mouth, licks into it, drawing you up to his mouth for more, drawing a broken moan up out your throat, a tiny noise that says too much. You let him, digging your fingers in as he licks into you again and again until you can't bear any more. You know what you want. You push him up a little, hands clenching against his smooth shoulders, and then you turn over underneath him and sink back onto the mattress.

It makes Derek crazy when you do this. It makes the air leave his throat like he's hurt, like he's helpless. He can lay himself out along your back, curve his hands around your vulnerable ribs. He puts his face to the back of your neck, to your hair; he eases his hips down until you can feel the solid heat of his dick against your ass. You think it's because you trust him, that he likes this so much; that you must trust him to leave yourself so exposed. 

"I'm still good," you murmur, your face turned on the pillow.

Still slick from earlier, is what you mean. Just enough to make the friction perfect as Derek pushes inside of you, slowly, a long, steady stretch. You think you can feel him trembling.

"Stiles," he says, and you turn your face into the pillow to hide, because he says it like you're something incredible and wanted, and not some pale, lost wreck of a boy.

He fucks into you. He pushes in and drags out, again, again, and the rhythm washes over you, filling and ebbing, the wave on the shore. You kiss his wrist when his hand settles by your head. You feel human.

When he comes he presses his face hard against you, slides a hand under you and rubs you off. You can't speak for breathing. You just hold on to the sheets awhile, and turn and throw an arm across him when he settles back by your side.

You think maybe you'll sleep now. You feel it stealing over you. It's still dark. 

You reach out and press fingertips to the rough line of Derek's jaw, knowing he'll be there if you wake.


End file.
